The Theory of Lust
by Big Bird
Summary: .:I am Lust, she says to herself, the embodiment of fleshly desire. And that is the only real emotion I have: the desire to become human. The desire for flesh translated into the desire to become true flesh:.


_Disclaimer: _Fullmetal Alchemist belongs solely to the genius who created it, not me. I am merely exploiting that genius.

I uploaded this before, but looking back I'm not satisfied with the quality of my work. So here it is again, edited and rewritten, and hopefully improved. It's an exploration of the homunculus Lust, who fascinates me in all her vulnerabilities.

Hopefully, I have conveyed my ideas coherently enough for all to understand. Please R & R! And thanks for reading!

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_Why?_

She wonders how she looks to this boy, he of the long hair like burnished gold, matter in its purest form, and the key to the cleansing of the human soul of all its Original Sin, he of the incomplete body that gleams of steel, yet epitomizes the beauty of existence. How strong he seems, and yet how frail, at the same time, all the pains that he has passed through like water, and the death that undoubtedly waits to reclaim his beauty. She wonders if she seems different, if the knowledge of his mortality changes how one looks at him, or anybody, for that matter. If the knowledge of her immortality changes how he would have looked at her.

How does she look to him, she wonders, her skin unnaturally pale and bloodless, her lips like dark stains of blackberry blood. Her curse proclaimed in indelible scarlet on her chest, the serpent curled in an embryonic circle of illusory warmth. Her weakness, her mortality, heavy silver in his pocket.

_Why do you want to become human?_

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_Why do you want to become human?_

Dante's voice is cold and distant, as always, a forbidding bell that reverberates around the homunculus' universe. The homunculus can only look at her master with uncertain eyes, unable to speak, unable to find the words to defend herself against the spears that are certain to follow.

_Look at them. Worthless, foolish creatures, mere animals that only know how to use their knowledge and intelligence to fight amongst themselves, barbarians for all their contrivances._

_Why _would_ you want to become human?_

The homunculus cannot say anything in defense of her ambition. Only the images of a young man, a young woman, float before her eyes. That, and the radiance of their faces, lit by a fire she cannot understand and can never experience, but which she cannot ignore.

She turns away from Dante's clear gaze, unable to bear its weight any longer.

_Humans. Even when they're being civil, they hurt each other in an infinitely more terrible way. They form relationships between them, avenues through which they can realize their sadistic desires._

_You homunculi were created by them, because they sought to drag their so-called beloved ones back into this chaotic world of nothing but pain._

Silence. The homunculus cannot raise her head.

_I will grant your wish, if it is truly what you want, but you must consider it carefully._

_Think about it, Lust._

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I _should be the one asking! Why do you want to become human?_

He pretends to not understand, though she is certain that he knows, deep within himself, he who struggles so hard against the fate that has befallen him. A child who as yet fears the truth.

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The earnest young man embraces her, warm arms holding her within a fortress unknown, feeding her with a life previously alien to her, yet she only stands stiffly, not moving. Visions flash before her: has she known these arms before? A face, and a small trickle of something powerful, despite being dimmed in mere memory, rushes through her. It fills her entire being, tingling her skin like nothing before, till the very tips of her fingers seem to be drawn ever closer to the core of her being, capturing the unfamiliar sensations before they disperse. Then it passes, and she is left once again diminished and flat.

A young woman suddenly gasps, her lips trembling and emerald eyes filling with tears. The young man turns, something -what is it called, desperation? panic? - flashing in his eyes. They are filled with so much pain, and yet, are so much more _alive_.

_What fills them with such power, one that I do not know?_

Two years on, he holds her again, with the same fervency. Once again, she feels her world waver; the brush of that enormity experienced before returns. She drinks it in, basks in it, soaking up the strange glow that dances along her veins, and then it turns dark. She sees blood, she sees flesh, she sees herself, as humans must truly see her, and she is shot with fear.

The instruments that she knows as fingers lash out, tips flicking out further from her than anyone else's ever could, and slide smoothly through flesh and bone, and the arms around her suddenly loosen and fall away. His wide eyes speak of a pain she does not understand, and does not wish to contemplate.

_Isn't feeling pain better than feeling absolutely nothing at thing at all?_ she wants to ask.

He collapses before her, slumps in a crumpled heap of flesh and blood, empty unfeeling trash. Does he now see that she and he are not one and the same?

She speaks to his lifeless form.

_You, are the tiny speck of my…_

She does not finish.

She cannot; now, they _are_ one and the same.

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Her silence does not satisfy him, and his demands become more forceful, more agitated.

_You are immortal. You do not age. And, though I don't know why, you seem to have a lot of fun living. Then, why do you want to become human again?_

Become human.

Again.

She has memories that are hers and yet not hers. She does not know if they mean she was human before, or if she was not. All she knows is that now, at this moment, she is not.

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_You want to go out to live among them?_

Envy is incredulous.

_Why would you want to? You are an idiot, just like them._

He snorts derisively.

_Oh yes, then it means that you probably suit them. Don't be so naïve, Lust. Look at you. You are not like one of them. We are freaks to them, fakes, a poor imitation of their wonderful, beautiful selves. You'd attract nothing but contempt!_

_We are not human, they would not accept us. They create us as toys, trying out what little knowledge they have, so they can feel like gods. Do you honestly believe they'd ever treat us as equals?_

Under his smirk, she knows he is getting angry, because there is truth in what he says. Her hands lie on the polished wood before her, softly curled, deceptively delicate. She can only vaguely discern the red serpent coiled beneath the hollow of her throat in her dim reflection in the table gloss. The Ouroboros, the representation of the cyclical nature of the world, the natural order of things. Eternal Return and Renewal. Birth, life, death, dissipation, and then birth again. The Balance of Light and Dark, the polarities of good and evil. But who are humans to determine which is which?

How ironic, she thinks, that we who carry this symbol are a disjuncture in what it represents. We are Sins, a wrinkle in the fabric of Nature.

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I am Lust, she says to herself, the embodiment of fleshly desire. And that is the only real emotion I have: the desire to become human. The desire for flesh translated into the desire to _become_ true flesh, for what is flesh without a soul? Other than that, I am a vacuum, searching for something to fill the hollow within me. The emptiness of mere lust, searching, lost , to achieve fulfillment in becoming Love.

The soulless versus one given meaning through the possession of the soul. The soul, substantiated by true flesh and blood. Completeness, the circle coming full back to its starting point.

Finally, she has someone she can express herself to, and be fully understood. The truth he avoids is one that he cannot run from or ignore for very much longer.

Your denial ends now, child, she thinks.

She turns back, to stare into those wide, fiery eyes, facing the burning hostility that she has tried not to meet directly all these years.

_You say such cruel things. Then, why do you wish to return your younger brother to his original body?_

He starts, and then those amber irises fall, but not before she sees the contraction of his pupils that indicates that he understands. Of course. There was no way that he could not.

_It's the same thing,_ she adds.

Because you and I are the same, she adds silently.

Our desires make us so.


End file.
